


I'm a little awkward (but with you I don't feel out of place)

by NicePlaceToBe



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Falling In Love, Fluff, Idiots in Love, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-22
Updated: 2020-04-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:20:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23784592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NicePlaceToBe/pseuds/NicePlaceToBe
Summary: It was set in his schedule that every Wednesday at exactly 8.15pm, Peter would walk through the doors of the grocery store, until the one Wednesday that didn't run to schedule.Or:Harley Keener is enamoured with Peter Parker, even if he only does get to see him when he's serving at the checkout on a Wednesday night.The 'I don't really like people but you're my cashier and you're really funny, you wanna go out?' AU
Relationships: Harley Keener & Peter Parker, Harley Keener/Peter Parker
Comments: 7
Kudos: 174





	I'm a little awkward (but with you I don't feel out of place)

**Author's Note:**

> So rather than do any writing for my work in progress in a different fandom, I decided it would be a great time to write some Parkner fluff because I am of the firm belief there is no such thing as too much fluff and this is a random AU but I felt like it worked? 
> 
> Anyway, let me know what you think! I haven't really written much for this pairing so I'd love to hear from you!

There is something so very stressful about talking to people. So many variables, so many things that Peter couldn’t know for sure- like if the conversation would lull, what trivial topic could he substitute in to end the awkwardness? What should he ask about? Should he keep trying or was it an indication that he should be quiet because the other person just wanted an excuse to leave?

He thinks it’s worse when people are contractually obligated to talk to him as part of their job. Peter knows he’s socially awkward and cringing through small talk didn’t make him any less aware of the fact, so he avoided it as much as possible. Peter ordered take-away food online, learned some plumbing tricks from YouTube so he wouldn’t have to call the super when there were leaks and if there was ever the option to use the self-checkout, he did so without hesitation.

(Well, not really _without_ hesitation, Peter did feel bad that he might be taking away work from individuals but at the same time, they were minimum-wage workers who likely needed a break and Peter would hate to force them into uncomfortable conversation with him along with all the other struggles in their workplace. When it was unavoidable, he tipped heavily- he could only imagine what being a waitress was like and in those moments watching the idiots customer service had to deal with, Peter could only be glad that everyone who came to Delmar’s deli where he worked was generally from Queens and not out to make a fuss)

When interaction was necessary, Peter established a routine to make it feel more manageable and allot his time accordingly to minimise how long he spent worrying/agonising over it.

And so it was set in his schedule that every Wednesday at exactly 8.15pm, Peter would walk through the doors of the grocery store.

Clothing was important, but Peter had his camouflage down to a science- baggy jeans and loose cardigans in dull colours made him an unobtrusive presence and unnecessary attention was never directed towards him. The real key was timing; he had to go at a time when it was busy enough that he wasn’t the only person in store- lest someone come up and try to help him- but not so busy that he would have to wait in line and make eye-contact with strangers who then felt obligated to remark on the weather.

Thankfully, Peter had worked out that late at night was a surprisingly good time to go shopping- few enough people out and about, usually too busy to notice anyone else. The cashiers were tired enough to look through you, which meant Peter could glide through to the self-checkout and not have to exchange a word with anyone (a revelation which made him oddly relieved and far less anxious about going shopping than he otherwise would have been).

It was like clockwork, Peter always had a list and worked up and down the aisles. By the time he made it to the counter, the exhausted parents (only just able to slip away from their jobs and kids to make a run to the grocery store after they fell asleep) occupied the bored teenage cashier who swiped their purchases with one hand while half her attention remained on her phone- which was actually ideal for Peter when he did have to go through her because the girl didn’t bother to look up.

Peter knew that as a twenty-something year old, being this unsociable was probably a bit of a red flag, but it wasn’t that he really had an issue with friends or family. It was mostly just meaningless chit-chat that Peter didn’t want to alienate the person he was talking to but somehow still struggled to get the words out. Maybe it was a problem, but Peter had strategies to work around it and he was _fine_ so he never addressed these odd preferences of his until the Wednesday that didn’t run to schedule.

——————————————————————

Peter didn’t know it, but the complete upheaval of his carefully laid plans was, in part, due to the chickenpox.

All the parents that usually took up the registers had kids at the local school where an outbreak had caused many children to be contagious and have to stay home. Which left the parents in a weird limbo of also having to stay home in case they were accidental carriers (because herd immunity is important, especially for anyone who can’t afford the vaccine or treatment and setting an example for the children was a common goal among all the parents) and it also meant that the store was surprisingly empty when Peter strolled in, right on time.

Under the fluorescent lights, with the white tiles shining beneath his feet and only the faint droning of the radio over the speakers with the rattling of the trolley, hidden in the maze of shelves and products, time was suspended. Peter relished in the quiet unearthliness of getting lost in what most would call mundane. There was something grounding in just listening to the hum of electricity powering the lights and the sound of his feet hitting the floor softly.

Peter was actually quite calm when he came out of the stacks, being too wrapped up in his peace to notice that he hadn’t actually seen anyone else at all.

And the second thing which upset his routine glanced up as he heard Peter turn the corner.

Harley would not call himself a ‘people person’. He had a short temper and a sharper tongue, but he was efficient, his charming smirk was very persuasive and he was in need of a job to afford the ramen noodles he was eating at an alarming rate (which was becoming a rather annoying drain on his money, because he couldn’t control his metabolism nor the amount of food he needed to eat to fuel his six foot figure, but he didn’t really have a choice- what good would his expensive college education and its accompanying degree do if he was dead).

The positive side with working at the grocery store was the employee discount and it was a fairly easy gig- Harley had morning and day classes almost exclusively so he’d been moved to take some of the shifts of the apathetic adolescent who had recently quit for a job with better pay.

So far on the night shift, Harley was finding it to be very quiet. Enough so that he had pulled up his homework from class and was doing it at the register when he heard a cart. He was pretty sure that the manager wouldn’t like Harley letting a customer go through self-service when he was available. His head snapped up and he pushed the pages to the side as he called

“I can serve you sir.”

The title fell off his tongue before he could rope it back in but he supposed it wouldn’t hurt his pay to be polite and the customer didn’t have to know that there was a slight sarcastic twang to the term of respect (because just about everything Harley said was or at least sounded sarcastic).

Peter must have jumped about a foot in the air when he heard a voice and when he spun around, Peter felt his stomach drop. He had turned to face a _very attractive_ cashier who was absolutely not the girl that was supposed to be there and realised there was no one else at the checkout. To go through the automated process now would be downright rude and might mean that the man (who had busied himself with getting his lane and system ready for a customer) faced repercussions for Peter not letting him do his job. Reluctantly, knowing he had no other choice, Peter turned his trolley away from the self-checkouts.

To Harley’s surprise, once he had finished getting everything back into order and looked up once again, he was met with a man about his own age. He wasn’t really sure what he had expected- maybe younger because of his smaller stature or older because of the unassuming clothes and the weight he carried in his shoulders, the kind of responsibility and guilt that you maybe shouldn’t feel but can’t shake and you don’t know how to fix it so you let it drag you down a little.

But he was young, with porcelain-like skin and brown fluffy curls. Delicate cheek bones and a small nose complimented each other to make one of the most gorgeous men Harley has ever seen and there was something about him that was undeniably intriguing. He kept his eyes down, and Harley had the feeling that he once had longer hair, because he seemed to try to behind it now even though it was long gone.

“Uh, thank you. For serving me,” he said, in a halting sort of way, still not making eye contact.

He was nervous, that much was obvious, and seemed a little shy. In normal circumstances, Harley would be exhausted at this point, but he’d been drinking coffee non-stop all day- and he wasn’t actually sure whether it would be physically possible for him to go to sleep now, even if he wanted to. The slight mania from consuming so much caffeine and his boredom propelled him into laughing as he pasted the customer-service smile on and started to scan his items. 

“No, you’re not,” he said, glancing up at him.

Peter felt as if he were pinned to the spot when a piercing gaze flicked over his face. Suddenly, he felt rather _seen,_ something he had always strived never to be.

“I’m not what?” he asked, confused as to what he meant and groaning internally at the unscripted conversation, deviating from general small-talk and was going to leave him feeling like an idiot.

“You’re not thankful that I’m serving you. You’d rather go through the self-checkout, but I didn’t really leave you a choice,” the cashier, whose name tag read ‘James’, replied, smirking lightly.

Peter wasn’t sure how to respond to that, since it was technically true. He didn’t look as if he took offence, rather, he seemed to find it quite funny

“Sorry, have I made you uncomfortable? Honesty tends to do that, it’s just that you’re my first customer in ages and you’re pretty easy to read.”

Harley didn’t really have any regard for small-talk- time was valuable, his time especially, and he wasn’t going to waste it discussing the unusually warm days they had been having recently or hearing about the unexpected result of the game last night (how much of a surprise could it really be if there were only two teams playing?).

“I’m easy to read?” Peter asked, in spite of himself because while his social anxiety was _screaming_ at him to get out of there, curiosity was his character flaw and it had been piqued by the bluntness of this man.

“Like a picture book,” he drawled, and as he looked back up at the customer, there was a glint in his eyes- it made his whole face lift as if he were glowing. A tiny change, but it made Harley wonder how many other little alterations in his expression transformed his entire countenance.

Peter’s eyebrow leaped before he could stop it and he fought to keep impassive. There was something about him that made Peter feel like he wouldn’t let it pass without a witty comment if he caught it, the same thing that made him feel like he wasn’t chatting because it was polite, but because he wanted someone to banter with.

He scanned the last few things through and Peter pulled out his credit card as he said

“Well, thank you anyway James.”

“You’re welcome for the service you didn’t want… Peter,” he read from the card in his hand before continuing, “Also it’s Harley, not James.”

Peter tilted his head in a questioning way, meeting his gaze with wide brown eyes that made Harley feel a little weak at the knees, “Then why are you wearing a name tag that says ‘James’?”

“Management won’t make a tag for me until I prove I’m not going to quit a few weeks in so they gave me one of the old ones.”

“Is that legal?” Peter cringed- that wasn’t a good question to ask, he was an _idiot_

“I don’t think anyone particularly cares if their cashier’s name is James, Harley or Jesus, just so long as we make the polite conversation and do our jobs,” Harley moved his last bag to the other side of the register.

“Right, er, well, nice to meet you,” he said, gathering his groceries and dropping his eyes from Harley’s.

“Thank you for shopping here, come again soon,” Harley intoned

Peter, hurrying to leave before he did anything more to embarrass himself thoughtlessly replied, “You too,” and was then out the door, leaving a grinning Harley in the store.

He stopped a few yards out in the parking lot when the dialogue computed and groaned.

Once, just once, Peter would love to be a functioning human being.

_On the bright side though,_ he reminded himself as he hastened across the parking lot, _what were the chances he’d ever see James/Harley again?_

————————————————————————

Walking into the store the next week, Peter was relieved to notice there were far more people in the store and when he glanced over near the registers, he could only make out a hunched figure over the conveyer belt.

He followed his regular path, crossing off items as he went and when he reached the end, he pointed his trolley to the self-checkout when he stopped short.

“Peter, I can serve you,” Harley grinned, wiggling his fingers at him.

Despite his best efforts, there was something about Peter that Harley couldn’t help but find fascinating. The amount of people who had similar slip-ups was majority of his customers, but before that, he hadn’t taken offence to his blunt manner- Peter had looked amused and interested in what he was saying. He had a feeling he would show up again tonight, and he had waited in anticipation of someone who was more captivating than the parents at their wits end and were liable to snap if he so much as hinted at sarcasm with them.

Peter approached the register with a grudging sort of expression and once he arrived, embarrassed that he obviously (somehow) remembered him. He wasted no time in asking, 

“Where’s the girl who usually takes this shift? I figured last time she was sick…”

“Hello to you too. She quit. I’m her replacement,” Harley responded with a smirk, “Why, she a friend of yours?”

“If I’m so easy to read, why don’t _you_ tell _me_?” Peter sent back, vaguely annoyed that his plan to go through the self-checkout had once again been foiled by Harley. 

Somehow, Peter was finding that Harley brought out his confidence and sarcasm and he wasn’t really sure what to do about that. It was a weird tightrope to walk, feeling confident now but also knowing that one misstep would make him feel as if he were plummeting to the ground.

“Judging from the glowing recommendations I’ve heard, I’m going to go with _no,_ if only because last time you almost had a heart attack when I started talking.”

“Heart attack is a bit strong,” Peter objected, face heating up.

“But accurate,” Harley responded before adding, “But you’re back, which means you either really wanted to see me again, or you come shopping this time every week for your bi-weekly grocery shop.”

“Close, but this is my weekly shop- obviously I’m not as easy to read as you think,” Peter grinned, somehow very invested in proving he was right to this particular cashier.

Harley raised his eyebrow (both delighting in the exchange and also concerned).

“Where’s all the rest of your food then?” Harley asked, gesturing at his trolley which was barely a quarter full with pasta, rice and a few sparing vegetables with other pantry staples.

“I’m small, I don’t need to fill my cart to the brim for a week,” Peter defended. Harley didn’t have to know Peter couldn’t cook for shit and got takeaway most nights.

“That’s not enough to feed a family of rabbits! What are you eating?” He teased lightly, though worry played at the edges of his mind for this man who didn’t seem to be aware that a balanced diet needed to actually have _nutrition in it, what was he eating for dinner- half a cup of rice and some lettuce?_

Peter rolled his eyes- he saved money on groceries when he didn’t keep a lot of food in the house. He didn’t need to hear concern from even the grocery store cashier about not eating breakfast, it was just that Peter didn’t have a lot of time in the mornings and-

“You’re like double my size, of course I’m going to eat less than you,” Peter dismissed (and somewhere in the back of his mind, he noticed how much easier it was to talk to Harley than anyone else, but maybe that was because it was just tennis, a quick rally back and forth) before he spied the papers beside him, “What’s that?”

Harley took the hint to drop the subject, “Just some homework.”

“College?” Peter found himself actually curious, not just wanting to fill the silence but caring about the answer. Which was disconcerting… in multiple ways.

“Yeah, I’m getting my masters in mechanical engineering.”

Peter sucked in a breath, “Fancy.”

“ _Expensive,”_ Harley countered, dropping the last item into his bag.

“University does tend to be,” Peter agreed, rummaging through his pockets to find his credit card.

“Yeah? What did you do?”

Harley had wondered at the question over the last week, at what someone as obviously gentle but smart and witty as Peter would do for a living- because it seemed to Harley that he could do just about anything if he really wanted to.

“Still working on my masters in biomolecular chemistry- I would have been done faster but I got distracted by a research project of mine.”

Harley was going to say more, but then the machine beeped, and Peter took back his card and instead he found himself spewing off the closing line,

“Thank you for shopping here and we hope to see you again soon.”

This time, Peter paid attention and deliberately said

“Thank you, Matt, have a nice evening.”

He noticed Harley’s grin at his conscious word choice and the use of name he knew to be wrong that he wore on his tag. Peter flushed slightly as he disappeared through the glass doors, still feeling Harley’s eyes on him.

—————————————————————————

The third time, Peter had timed it carefully. As funny as Harley was, and as much as the memory of their conversations had made him smile over the past few weeks, Peter knew he couldn’t be served by him again (because he was starting to think he was developing a crush on him and that was more concerning than any of his anxieties- he did not need to have it rubbed in his face that no one would ever want to be in a relationship with someone as nervous or _weird_ as himself).

He managed to make it to the self-checkout and start scanning. However, he had forgotten the rather unfortunate fact that the machines were temperamental at the best of times. So naturally, as soon as he scanned something, it threw a dummy spit, saying it couldn’t sense it anything the bagging area which meant that Peter needed assistance from an employee. And who _would be_ the only employee on duty?

As Harley strolled over, Peter decided he disliked his luck rather a lot.

“Hey there,” he said, smirking.

“Hi. The machine isn’t working,” Peter gestured to the screen, hoping Harley would take the hint and scan his card.

“Really? Well then, I suppose it would be easiest if I served you instead. Come on,” he waved him over to his now familiar register.

Peter sighed, knowing that Harley knew that wasn’t what he had meant- and also being just the littlest bit glad that he purposefully misunderstood him- gathering his articles and wheeling the cart over.

Harley wasn’t going to ask Peter why he _really_ didn’t want to be served by a person- specifically him. He had noticed Peter looked just a little less weighed down last time they talked and sue him, but Harley really likes how Peter laughed. He never claimed he was a good person, but Peter somehow made him feel just a little bit more normal with the way he looked at him, as if he could almost forget that anything existed outside of the vortex the grocery store made.

“How was your week?” Peter asked idly and he wondered if this was what small talk was meant to feel like, just wanting to get to know the other person, small increments at a time.

“Super. I’ve only been in my classes for this semester like a month and I’ve already realised I’m smarter than all my teachers,” Harley scoffed.

Peter leaned in slightly and Harley felt his heart pound just a little bit at the interest in his eyes, the way his cheeks looked just a little bit more flushed than his usual pallor.

“I mean, I get it, but I feel like that’s not the type of relationship dynamic you should be perpetuating.”

“Am I supposed to bring my intellect down to meet that of my lecturers?”

Peter got the feeling it would be hard for anyone to compare to Harley in terms of intelligence, just the way he talked and the alertness he held made it obvious. All the same, his indignation at not being intellectually stimulated made Peter laugh lightly at the scowl on his face. As he checked the last thing through and Peter paid, he glanced down at his name tag.

“Thanks Harley,” he said as he left, and Harley thinks he felt more awake then than he had when he practically injected caffeine into his bloodstream. 

———————————————————————

From there, Peter found his shopping trips to be the highlight of his week.

Harley was brilliant in a way that made being around him made Peter feel like he was free. Harley didn’t care about all the things that made being with other people stressful and Peter was walking just a little bit on air at not having to worry about pre-preparing conversation topics or that there wouldn’t be enough to fill the silence. The conversation ebbed and flowed like the tides- and when the silence came, it was comfortable and natural and Peter didn’t feel the need to discuss the weather just so that it would end.

To Harley, Peter was vibrant- every flicker from the overhead lights caught a new facet of his expression. The fine line of his nose and the gentle curve of his eyelashes, the glow in his eyes and the warmth of his smile, filling Harley with giddiness from the inside out.

The way that his mind worked made him grin- Peter was wonderful in all the kinds of ways that no one ever told you to look for, but once you find it you don’t know how you lived without it. Warm like lazy Sunday mornings; calming like the rainy days when water pours down; kind like the days you know you’ll look back on with nostalgia; and magical like a night when there’s possibility in the air and you’ve got nowhere to be.

Harley thinks the moment he knew there wasn’t any chance of coming back from having Peter in his life, if he ever left it, was the day Harley mouthed off to his professor. A professor who then decided that an essay was in order to prove that he was, in fact, the teacher, due soon _ish._ Harley ignored it in favour of all his other coursework until the professor decided it would make up part of Harley’s grade- which he neglected to mention until the _night before it was due, when Harley was working._

Harley had just about resigned himself to staying up the whole night when Peter came through.

“You’re doing what?”

“I’m pulling an all-nighter. Or I might just not turn in the paper. That would work too,” Harley pondered as he slowly worked through the contents of Peter’s cart- somehow it was taking longer each time, as if he were stalling or Peter had been putting more food in, or maybe both.

Thoughtfully, Peter considered his plans and decided they were both shit.

“No,” he said, quite determined.

“What do you mean ‘no’?” Harley asked, half laughing as Peter came around the back of the desk and adding on, “What are you doing?”

“I,” Peter said as he planted himself on the empty register beside him, “I am not moving until you start dictating your essay to me. Where’s your laptop?”

“You can’t just-“

“I think I just did Harley. Your education is important, do you really want to fail on the principle of being an asshole?”

Harley had to consider that one because it would be _so satisfying,_ but in the end it was somehow easier to let the words flow, unhampered, into the air, not onto paper- to just talk about vague ideas rather than write as if he had something concrete to say.

Peter typed it all up and it only ended up taking a half hour for all the ideas to be down, at which Harley figured if he was keeping Peter here, they might as well eat. A frozen pizza (purchased with money out of Harley’s pocket and his employee discount) heated up in the staffroom microwave was split between them- and then another one as Peter revealed his fast metabolism.

Editing was a struggle, but since Harley didn’t have to alternate between talking to Peter and doing his job, they were done a lot faster than either expected- though Harley had still kept the store open a lot longer than he was meant to. As he switched the lights off and locked the door, Peter hung around.

Peter really wanted to kiss Harley. He wanted to put his hands through Harley’s golden locks and draw him close and dammit he _really wanted to kiss Harley and he had promised himself he would do it tonight._ So he was gathering his courage when Harley, turning away from the now locked store to ask, half grinning,

“What are you living off? Because judging by the amount of pizza you just ate, that ‘I don’t need that much food because I’m smaller’ spiel is bullshit.”

_“_ Take out is the official cuisine of New York,” Peter shrugged, “I’ve got all the best places on speed-dial.”

_“_ I don’t know whether to be concerned or impressed,” Harley said.

“It’s a perfectly normal lifestyle, not my fault you country folk are raised on a diet of Tennessee whiskey, fried chicken and the hearts of city people who weren’t tough enough to last out there.”

Harley threw his head back and laughed. He jostled Peter with his elbow and Peter somehow stumbled and Harley caught him and his arms were around Peter and his impossibly blue eyes were _so close._ Peter’s breath caught as he looked into Harley’s eyes- and a wave of panic suddenly hit him. What if he was making a fool of himself?

Peter was galvanised into action, righting himself and jabbering on about this being his subway stop and practically bolted away, leaving a confused and disappointed Harley illuminated by the streetlights.

———————————————————

Peter knows that was stupid. It was _very stupid._ He went the next day to apologise, but he realised he didn’t actually know Harley’s schedule because Peter always only came in on Wednesdays. So, he had to wait a week to talk to him, which gave Peter time to perfect his apology.

But as soon as he walked through the door on Wednesday, he forgot everything he had wanted to say.

He went straight to the register and Harley was looking up at him, obviously surprised and without his signature smirk.

“Hey Pete-“

This time, Peter didn’t let his anxiety rear its ugly head. Instead, he pulled Harley in for a breath-stealing, heart-pounding kiss.

When Peter pulled away, Harley’s eyes flicked open and that grin that Peter loved broke across his face.

“So, would it be totally out of left field for me to ask if you wanted to have dinner? I could make you some real food…”

Peter grinned, hand still fisted in Harley’s shirt.

“Yeah. That sounds nice. On one condition though.”

Harley’s face fell slightly, and he breathlessly asked, “What?”

“For our second date, I’ll give you the full New York experience with all the best take-out,” Peter grinned broadly as Harley’s smirk came back in full force.

“You think you’re getting a second date?”

“I think I know it,” Peter laughed.

And from then on, Peter never did feel awkward going to the grocery store again- not when Harley was serving him, and not when they started doing it together every Wednesday because it only made sense when they were living together that they went shopping together.

So it was one Wednesday that didn’t run to schedule, but it meant that the rest of Peter’s life never really needed the schedule again.


End file.
